


the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever

by nymphrea



Category: Nerve (2016)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Introspection, Kid Fic, Literal Sleeping Together, Nightmares, Post-Canon, Prom, Slow Dancing, Star Gazing, These Two Deserved A Better Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-16
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-10-19 21:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10648140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nymphrea/pseuds/nymphrea
Summary: When she falls asleep, arms still around him, she watches. The rise and fall of her chest becomes his rock, his anchor and the sun is cresting when she moves beneath him. She sleepily blinks at him, smiles softly and brings his head to her chest.He drifts off to the promise she’s alive and whole.





	the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever

**Author's Note:**

> title from [raw with love](https://hellopoetry.com/poem/9425/raw-with-love/) by charles bukowski
> 
> edit 3/24/18: i rewatched the movie and basically rewrote this whole thing, updated the tags and changed the title to something a little more fitting.

Moving on in theory, is easy. 

In actuality, living is hard and there’s so much more to do besides shut down the game. 

There’s police at the door, behind their desks, and the phone on his nightstand stays silent. The suit is itchy against his neck when he appears in court, testifying against the people who founded and played the game, and he doesn’t see _her_ in the crowd. The chair is stiff underneath him and the questions thrown at him from scowling and sympathetic lawyers alike drudge up memories and history he’s tried to forget for _years._

Dozens of people come through, of all walks of life and they sit behind the defendant’s desk and scowl at him, as if _he_ was the one who ruined their life, not the other way around. He watches each one, their mannerisms, whether they look him in the eye or not and wonders who swiped _yes_ to killing the girl in the grass.

Out of the twenty-four called to the stands, caught by the police and charged an accessory to murder, only six look him in the eye and the jury rules them innocent, swiping _no._  

Finally on the third night, when the door is heavy against the frame, his phone rings. This time it’s _her_ shaky voice on the other end, asking him to come over. He walks to her house, across town, beat-up converse limp. He takes only back roads, avoids technology as much as he can. 

Ian knocks on the backdoor but when she answers, it’s Sam standing there, still sweaty and shaking. Her hands find his, still wiping his hands on his jeans as his brain tells him it’s not sweat on his hands, rather her crimson blood. She's silent as she leads him to her bedroom and her mother finds them the next morning, curled around each other.

She closes the door. 

 

 

 

 

He returns the motorcycle, pays back the owner, stands there as the woman gives him a sympathetic look as she curls his fingers around the keys. 

 

 

 

 

She isn’t the only one who suffers from nightmares and he finds his returning. 

His are just as bad and happen just as often now. Sometimes more often than nights he actually sleeps, and it’s always the same thing. He’s always back on that tower above New York, the kid slipping off the pole and disappearing into the fog below as he tries to snatch his hand, and his screams turn into hers as she falls, red staining her stomach as her blonde hair fans out on the wet grass below. 

He always wakes then, shouting, shooting upward and calling out her name into the night. 

Sweating hands find wet hair, but it’s never enough, because she actually dies in his arms. It’s never a scene, she doesn’t sit up when he points that gun at Kelly, blood coats his hands when he presses them to her stomach and it isn’t from her sweatshirt.

 

 

 

 

 

It’s their senior year, and it’s the night of prom. Vee avoids the color green and trashes the sparkly green mini-dress she wore the night they met, despite her mom’s protests of the expense and quality and he _understands._  

He doesn’t say a word about it as she descends the stairs in a cream-colored dress that falls to the floor. 

Instead of ratty sneakers she wears delicate kitten heels that click lightly against the hardwood floors, and bring her to his height. But as soon as the door to his car closes, she opens her clutch and smirks at him, pulling out tightly rolled ballet flats. 

 _No one will notice,_ she whispers into his mouth and leans across the partition. 

They finally pull away from her house five minutes later, and maybe his pants are rumpled and her lipstick is smeared. when her friends ask about the red, lip-shaped marks barely hidden by the collar of his suit, she just shrugs innocently and he holds back a laugh.

 

 

 

 

 

After they both receive letters for the following school year, they celebrate. 

 _I didn’t think it possible,_ he murmurs into the air they share in her twin bed and she nods, wrapping her arms around his neck. While her friends go out and drink, wasting the night away at bars with strangers, they stay. His fear of heights keeps them from the roof of her mom’s apartment, and later theirs. 

 _I don’t mind_ , she says, _we can see the stars just fine from here._

When she falls asleep, arms still around him, she watches. The rise and fall of her chest becomes his rock, his anchor and the sun is cresting when she moves beneath him. She sleepily blinks at him, smiles softly and brings his head to her chest. 

He drifts off to the promise she’s alive and whole.

 

 

 

 

Logically, he knows the nightmares will truly never go away.

The years fly and the days crawl and their apartment becomes a house, metal glinting on their fingers. There are nights he still wakes in cold sweats and she wakes herself up from her own strangled screaming, and there are nights when they don’t wake at all. 

Eventually, there’s another reason they’re up at night but it’s not nightmares, it’s not their minds torturing them with the past, it’s not the history they’re scared they’re doomed to repeat.

It’s their new beginning.


End file.
